


Academic Integrity

by oshunanat



Series: Ketchbriel [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kendricks Academy (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 23:29:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oshunanat/pseuds/oshunanat
Summary: In order to prove his loyalty to the Men of Letters, Mick had to kill his friend Timothy. But what about Ketch? How did he show he was ready to further his studies? A look at the events leading up to, and the actual events of, his first ever kill.Note: Although set in my Ketchbriel universe, it is 100% a standalone fic set purely in the past. You don't need to have read those two to understand the events of this piece.Note 2: Since the show doesn't specify whether or not Mick's trial was unique to Mick, I'm operating under the assumption that each student has a slightly different trial to meet the needs of the Men of Letters at that time.Note 3: For Mood, I suggest having Imagine Dragon's "Natural" on in the background. It's what first got me thinking about the piece.





	Academic Integrity

He tried not to fidget.

He could hear his mother’s voice his in head. _Fidgeting is not befitting a Man of Letters_.

He looked up at the clock on the wall.

 _I’m not a Man of Letters yet,_ he churlishly replied to this internal conversation. Anything to keep his mind off of where he was. Anything to keep him from showing nervousness or fear.

And fear was an appropriate reaction to being called to the Headmistress’ office.

Kendrick’s held its students, the future of the Men of Letters, to extremely high standards. Those who did not meet those standards could, at any moment, “wash out.” They’d be there at lunch or on break and suddenly miss a class. The teacher would make no mention of their absence, and by the time classes were done for their day, their room showed no hint that they’d ever existed. They were never to be mentioned again, and never seemed to keep in touch.

Ketch knew the truth of the matter.

The Men of Letters hated nothing more than loose ends, and ever since his first day, one of the few strong patterns he’d noticed among those who were no longer with them was a visit to the Headmistress’ office.

The other possibility was that he was being called in for his assignment to progress to the next level. While they nominally happened in the Summer trimester, there was nothing to say that it couldn’t happen now, less than halfway in to the Fall, and to be fair the summons had been a rather blasé comment from his Latin teacher as he left class this morning advising him to report to her at the start of lunch.

Ketch hated not knowing what was going on.

Thankfully, his misery was short lived as the secretary motioned to him to go in.

Standing up, he straightened his jacket and tie. It was part about the Headmistress insisting on a meticulous adherence to the dress code, and the rest about putting on the best impression that he could, just in case.

“Thank you,” he said before rapping his knuckles twice on the door.

“Enter,” she called out.

He swallowed and opened the door.

“Headmistress,” he said trying to sound confidant.

“Take a seat, Mr. Ketch,” she said as she stood. He wouldn’t call her tone kind – as far as he and his classmates knew that wasn’t an emotion she ever displayed – but it was as pleasant as he’d ever recalled hearing. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he said as he obeyed. He knew the nerves wouldn’t leave him until he left this room.

She walked around the desk to lean on its edge, a file in her hand, resting on her thighs.

“First, I must commend you on your studies thus far. Your behavior in class is impeccable and your grades are quite reRhysable, except for that nagging maths grade.”

He tried to not pull a face. He liked maths, had no real issue with it, but as demanding as Kendrick’s was, _something_ had to give and he’d been coasting in it. His grade was in no danger, but it also wasn’t much more than middling either.

“As you know, the better your record at Kendrick’s, the more latitude of choice you’ll have once you finish. I can see a bright future ahead of you, and I hope you can take advantage of it.”

Okay then. He’d have to start working harder in that class. Even though he’d caught her eye in a good way, it meant that he was under no less an intense microscope.

“Yes, ma’am, I will work on that.”

“Excellent. Speaking of your future, as you know we ask each of you to perform a task to demonstrate your readiness to advance to the next level. Succeed, and you’ll be able to work on a specialty of your choice in your free period. Fail us…”

Message received.

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“Excellent.” She handed him the file.

He opened it to reveal the picture one of the Year 12 students, a boy by the name of Rhys Watts. He knew him of course – a school this small it was impossible to _not_ to know everyone, even if they didn’t share their Rhetoric course together. He was well liked, both smart and athletic, a keen rugby player with the kind of natural talent that might have been honed into a professional level talent had his father not been a Man of Letters that insisted he join the family business. All told, Ketch found himself a bit puzzled as to why he was a part of Ketch’s assignment.

“Unfortunately, not all students share your academic integrity, Mr. Ketch.”

 _That_ was unexpected, and it sent a bit of dread down his spine. He was getting an idea of what his assignment would entail.

“Mr. Watts was tracking towards our research team and has spent the time since his assignment researching the daoine sídhe in preparation for his final thesis. Unfortunately for him, he ignored our advice about not comingling with fellow students which ultimately caused him to take unallowable liberties with the originality of his work in his drafts.”

There were no rules against dating other students – in fact Ketch noticed that in some ways it was subtly encouraged through assigned partnerships of students who had taken an interest in one another – his parents got together because of this strategy – but they were constantly reminded of their priorities and the heavy work load meant that students were more quick to have flings than any kind of actual long term relationship, Watts had been one of the few exceptions to that rule.

He nodded. He had questions, like how they knew one caused the other, but he knew enough that it wasn’t his place to question.

“He will be washed out?” he asked, now getting an inkling of his mission and not sure how he felt about it.

 “And you will do the honors,” she confirmed.

And there it was.

“Of course, no one will have any inkling of your involvement or that it is happening.”

“Of course not, Headmistress.” No one ever _saw_ anyone disappear. They just did.

“You have until Monday morning.” She moved back behind her desk and grabbed a small key out of her drawer and handed it to him. “Help yourself to what you need from training room. When you are finished, you will report to Mr. Barnes. You will not be expected to clean up.”

His fingers wrapped around the key before placing it into his pocket. It was literally the key to his future.

“I understand.”

“Excellent. Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Ketch.”

He was never happier to be dismissed.

*

“What happened to you, Ketch?” Mick Davies asked him as passed him the platter while Ketch took his seat.

“I got called in.”

There was a collective wince of sympathy from his classmates.

“What did she want?”

“She encouraged me to try for top honors.” Ketch now wondered if that was true or if it was meant to give him a quick cover for their meeting. Then again, it didn’t really matter. He was still going to work on that Rhys regardless, just to be safe.

“Ouch,” Amelia said. “That’s almost worse than being in trouble.”  Amelia was Rhys’ girlfriend. He couldn’t think like that though if he was going to get through this assignment.

“Almost,” Ketch agreed. “But I mean, I only need to ace _all_ of my classes. How hard could that be?” he joked.

Mick clapped his shoulder. “Good thing you don’t have a life,” he joked.

“So what’s your excuse then?” he joked back.

“Ha!” Timothy laughed at his friend before choking on his water. Ketch tried to not wrinkle his nose. If he could be considered an argument for the automatic admission of legacies to Kendrick’s, one could argue that Timothy was quite the opposite and Ketch remained surprised that the boy hadn’t washed out yet.

He'd taken a few bites of his food at this point, but it tasted like dust in his mouth. Ketch pushed his plate away.  Even though he knew he should eat, he just wasn’t hungry. On the surface, the Monday deadline seemed generous – five full days – but like so many things at Kendrick’s – if you knew to look deeper, you saw the trap.

Rhys was in Lower Six. As a reward for getting through the first two years was the right to leave the campus on the weekends without needing special permission, and it was something he took advantage of frequently – including this coming weekend if Amelia’s complaining at breakfast yesterday was anything to go by. It meant if he waited that long and couldn’t get the plan off he’d have almost no time to make a second attempt.

Even if the stars aligned and Rhys stayed on campus, it was an open secret that Amelia would spend her Saturday nights and a good chunk of her Sunday night with him – it just wasn’t a good time to try something.

No, he had to strike sooner rather than later.

“You okay, mate?” Mick asked. “You seem moodier than usual.”

Ketch forced a smile. “Just the stress of the knowing Headmistress is watching.”

“Tough luck that,” Timothy said commiserating.

Ketch stood up. “I’ll see you in Latin.”

*

The answer of how to get Rhys alone came to him in Rhetoric the next morning. As he was gathering his belongings to leave for his next class, he heard Amelia calling out to Emma.

“Can you pass along a message to Rhys for me?”

He tuned the conversation itself, because the conversation didn’t matter – the method did. As small as the school was, it was often easiest to just pass along messages to one another. Even better, as the two sought privacy in a school where there was little to be found when you wanted some alone time, it meant that like most couples on campus, they had “their” spot to retreat to out on the grounds – and it was one known amongst their year so no one else interrupted it. It would be all too easy to pass along word to Rhys and get him to come out alone. He’d just swing by the training room before hand and then all he had to do was wait.

Yes, he was quite pleased with himself. As their instructions liked to remind them, sometimes the simplest plans were best. He grabbed his bag and headed out to his next class, feeling better for having an idea under his feet.

*

Catching Rhys in the halls the next day proved easy enough.

“Rhys! Wait!”

The upper classman paused and turned around.

“Yes?”

“Amelia’d like to meet you tonight at 8 at your spot.” That was an hour after dinner but an hour before everyone had to be in their rooms for the night. It would mean less people out in the halls, and less chance of being seen. It would be enough time.

“Sure, thanks,” Rhys said easily.

And that was that. A pair of nods and the two continued on their way to day.

If Ketch was distracted in classes, aside from the one moment in Lore where he officially blanked on the answer, he mostly managed to hide it.

*

He ate lightly at dinner again, his appetite going from barely there to completely vanished as the day had wore on.

“You feeling all right?” Timothy asked. “You usually love the Shepard’s Pie.”

Trust Timothy to notice that it was, in fact, his favorite dish, and that he’d barely eaten half of it tonight.

“I might be coming down with something,” he said with a shrug.

“Oh, well feel better then! We’ve got that quiz tomorrow in Rhetoric. You know you can’t miss it!”

“Yes, mother,” he said lightly. “Are you ready for it?”

He made a face. “I’ve still got twenty pages of reading left to go.”

“Then you’d best get on it. You know Mr. Michaels has a knack for putting that one thing on there that you didn’t think you need to prepare for.”

Now it was Timothy’s turn to make a face. “Tell me about it. Ugh. And I still have Latin and maths to do too!’

“And it only gets worse, not better,” Mick chipped in cheerfully. “How often do you see the Upper Sixths around actually enjoying their free time.”

Ketch snorted.

It was too soon to worry about that. For now, he just had to survive the night.

*

It was easy to slip into the training room, it was hard deciding what to pick. It doubled as a armory for the rare, but not unheard of, occasions when Kendrick’s might be called upon to serve as a remote base of operations for the Men of Letters. The focus of their training remained fisticuffs and basic gunplay, but fancier weapons were kept here, as well as the accessory Ketch had sought once he’d grabbed the pistol that he was most comfortable with, a silencer. There was a light breeze blowing through the fields and sounds had the tendency to carry on the wind at the most inopportune times. He had to reduce that risk any way he could. He also grabbed a knife because, it could easily get ugly and he might have to grapple for his life.

He looked up at the clock.

Ten minutes until the agreed-upon meeting time. He wiped his hands on his trousers before locking up behind him.

He could do this.

*

He couldn’t do this.

The plan had been fairly simple: find cover, and use the element of surprise to set Rhys off-guard so he could “hold up” his classmate and do the deed.

The plan was shot to hell because Rhys was already there, a good ten minutes early. Rhys was not one known to show up early, but no, there he was staring in his direction.

He took a deep breath.

_Adapt. Improvise. Overcome._

He couldn’t even remember which professor he was channeling at the moment. His heart was pounding in his ears, the crunching of grass sounding as loud as Head Mistress’ heels across the wooden floors of the school.

“Evening Ketch,” Rhys said casually as soon as he was within earshot. “Amelia’s got no idea I’m here, does she?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Good,” Rhys said.

Rhys had changed out of his uniform into an Arsenal jersey and a pair of athletic pants. It’d look like he’d just come off the pitch except the pitch wasn’t lit at night and his clothing was far too clean and his hair too perfect to sell the illusion. It was the most casual he’d seen his classmate.

“So let’s not beat around the bush,” Rhys said. “I’m your assignment, aren’t I?”

That….was not what Ketch expected him to say.

He seemed to take Ketch’s silence as confirmation, because he kept talking.

“You know, before I started playing rugby, I was into football?”

“I could have guessed as much.” Rhys was still one of the best, if not the best in the school during pick-up matches.

“I was pretty good too. So much so that I got offered a spot at a football academy. Mother was thrilled for me, but father was furious when he found out. I wasn’t going to waste my life playing _football_. I was going to be a _Man of Letters_ and follow in his footsteps as he’d followed in his dad’s. She tried to get him to change his mind, but he wasn’t having it and she backed down pretty quickly. I quit football not long after that and started playing rugby instead. I tried to embrace this whole thing you know, but…” he shrugged. “I still wish I could have gone to the academy. Who knows. Maybe I’d washed out of that. But I was literally a half-step away from living the dream of half of my classmates and what do I have to show for it? Blood on my hands and some really arcane knowledge about the mating habits of fairies.”

The bitterness in Rhys’ voice was impossible to hide.

“Is that why you did it then?” Ketch asked.

“Cheated, you mean?” Rhys asked.

He nodded.

Rhys shrugged. “I guess. It was impossible to not notice the way my class and the class of the years ahead of me kept shrinking. I can only imagine what’s it like once you graduate, you know?”

“You weren’t being groomed for field work, though.”

“So what? Enough die in the field and you need more. If you need more, who are you going to choose from? The bloke that’s been stuck in the archives for the past decade or the fresh-faced young Kendrick’s graduate.”

Ketch found himself unsympathetic to Rhys' argument. The Men of Letters did noble work, _necessary_ work, how could Rhys not see that? What did football players contribute to the world? Mindless entertainment? Hardly anything of worth.

“Right,” Ketch said as raised his gun, his stance much shakier than he’d liked.

“It’s time?” Rhys asked, sounding resigned to his fate. “Do what you can to console Amelia, would you?”

“That’s it?” Ketch said. “You’re not going to fight or run?”

“What’s the point?” Rhys asked. “I don’t want this. I never wanted this. I don’t want to die knowing I got you killed too.” He dropped to his knees. “The least I can do is make it easier on you.”

It wasn’t. It was actually making it fifty times harder. He’d counted on the adrenaline he’d always experienced in a fight to help take him through it, and there was none of that here.

But it still needed to be done, and he needed to look at this as a gift on a platter. Pull one trigger and he’d move along in his training, move along to being one step closer to becoming a Man of Letters.

Ketch aimed.

Rhys closed his eyes.

Ketch fired, flinching as he did.

Rhys fell to the ground, eyes lifeless as blood oozed from the wound.

After a few moments, Ketch turned to go back inside and report.

*

“Morning everyone,” Amelia said as she took her seat at the table. Ketch pushed over the jug of orange juice, which she accepted with a graceful nod. “Anyone seen Rhys this morning? He was supposed to meet me before breakfast so I could give him back his notes.”

Ketch said nothing.

After all, one did not speak of those who washed out.

**Author's Note:**

> I chose the title for the double meaning. Lacking academic integrity means that you've cheated or in the case of Rhys, plagiarized. Academic can also mean "not of practical relevance; of only theoretical interest." In this case, to mean that Ketch's integrity is only theoretical. He killed a classmate in cold blood, with comparatively little hesitation because was told to. Fun, huh?
> 
> This was originally going to be the start of a 3rd Ketchbriel story, but I pretty quickly realized that for what I wanted to do with the piece and the tone I wanted the piece to have that it just made more sense to have it be a stand alone work. I do plan to touch back on this in the next mainline fic, however. I don't know when I'll start writing it, but I definitely want to explore a post-Lucifer life for the new couple.


End file.
